


sorry about the blood in your mouth (i wish it was mine)

by caesarous (wolstroh)



Series: early works [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 01:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolstroh/pseuds/caesarous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Joker sounds thorough and concentrated when he says: “I can take you to the other side, you know”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sorry about the blood in your mouth (i wish it was mine)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roregore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roregore/gifts).



> “Sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine.” Richard Siken, "Crush"

Everything smells like blood and tastes like ashes.

The flames cut deeply through the night, and it’s awfully quiet for a few minutes. Silence. Debris that seem like a parody of calm. Distant shouting, roars of fire, life is everywhere but death’s around every corner too, and they’re like moon and its always-dark side. (Except there is no dark side because the whole moon is dark.)

Silence once again. Silence. It feels good. Great, actually. It feels like you can let go of a breath you’ve been holding for too long.

Silence is so absolute that Batman even allows himself to think that maybe, just maybe it will stay this way until the night is over, until the weight on his shoulders is taken away for a little while: just to steady his breath, cleanse the lacerations, and inhale deeply before it all starts again.

Silence is a sip of oxygen and Batman seeks for it almost desperately.

Too bad The Joker, it seems, isn’t human at all and doesn’t need to breathe. He starts wiggling and muttering and then singing  something very long and very annoying until Batman simply loses it and punches him in the face ( _because he can and he will and he will do it every time there is such a possibility to try to hurt this monster even a little even only physically_ ).

The Joker looks so offended that Batman is having kind of a hard time suppressing a smirk crawling its way to his lips.

“Why would you do that for?” The Joker demands in a manner like he has every right to.

It makes Batman want to punch him again but he instead snarls, “It is the least you deserve.”

 _You deserve so much more_ , he thinks. _You have no idea._

And of all the things, The Joker says not with fake ugly innocence or thick unfunny taunt or something else he could think of but with genuine surprise: “How come?”

This monster. Liar. Murderer. There is no way in hell he’s getting away with these words. There is _no way_. Doesn’t matter how many times he did before, just-- not now. Not _again_.

“Listen, Bats, I get it: no one’s perfect and you’re not an exception. I mean, anger issues, constant denial of things and so on, but hey, you’re not stupid, are you? I sent you a very lovely invitation, you didn’t come (how mean of you!), so I made a building full of people go kaboom. Simple as that.”

Batman grits his teeth trying to make the rage that is pumping through his veins less hot and blinding. The Joker smiles at him encouragingly and continues, “But I’m not _that_ offended, dear, and you know why? You didn’t come not because you didn’t want to play but because you were so very busy with those nasty burglars.”

The Joker sounds triumphant, self-righteous even, but Batman simply doesn’t get it. He just feels sore, worn out, exhausted to the very bone.

And maybe The Joker can sense it so he somehow softens a little bit (Batman doesn’t want to know _how_ can this, this _abomination_ do it) and murmurs almost tenderly, “Don’t be so upset, darling. You can do nothing about it. No one can.”

And then adds with something in his voice that is close to disappointment, “That’s the whole point of our pointless life. Oh, irony!”

The Joker chuckles weakly, his whole expression sour. Because, really, isn’t that the lamest joke the universe could ever think of? This. The meaning of life that is life itself being meaningless. God, thinking about it can give you the worst headache you’ve ever had so The Joker prefers not to think about all this crap at all. Drives you nuts.

But Batman? Oh, Batman still doesn’t understand. He glares at The Joker, radiating anger and contempt and protest, and spits, “I stop crime every day. Save people. Lock psychopaths like you up in Arkham.”

“Riiight,” The Joker sighs discontentedly. “Oh, Batsy, you are very cute but you got it all wrong. Again.”

He twitches uncomfortably and looks with displeasure at the ropes wrapped tightly around his body.

“Is it really necessary?” he asks innocently and smiles at Batman’s warning growl. “All right, all right. But, I mean, seriously. Look around: blood, suffering, piles of corpses and little ol’ me is still kicking. Something’s definitely wrong here, huh? That is _not_ a good job, Batman. You know you should’ve killed me looong ago, right? But then again, where’s fun in that?”

“It doesn’t matter, though. The end game is always the same: (by some miracle) I live, innocent people die, you suffer in the darkest corner of your pretty cave, my tall, dark and brooding knight in not-so-shining armor. And the story never ends; we have to go through the same crap over and over again. Jeez, even I’m a little tired of it.”

They sit in silence for a couple of very long moments. Batman steals a glance at The Joker who doesn’t seem insane or monstrous or taunting. Just… yeah, tired. And it’s actually surprising.

The Joker sounds thorough and concentrated when he says: “I can take you to the other side, you know”.

He watches Batman carefully and Batman watches him. Eye contact seems unbearable, suddenly. Maybe, because Batman is not exactly used to seeing The Joker so very serious, so very _human_.

“No more _just_ rivers in Egypt. No more pain, no more endless agony you are so willing to go through every day of your miserable insignificant life. No more guilt and grief and loneliness coming out of your pores.”

They share this gaze that burns through skin.

Batman feels sick when he asks in a husky, low voice: “Why?”

The Joker smiles at him slowly with stinging frantic affection.

The police sirens are loud and glowing in the dark ( _through the smoke and stink of blood and aftermath of the explosion_ ).

“I don’t want to destroy you, Batman,” The Joker purrs just as slowly, savouring the words. “I just want you to laugh with me. Like that other time so veeery long ago. You remember that joke, do you?”

Bewildered (actually, _astonished_ ), Batman cautiously nods.

The Joker grins with lazy contentment.

“Good,” he says simply and falls silent.

Everything goes completely motionless and hazy around them, and Batman can still taste someone else’s blood on his tongue.

It blazes like fire in his mouth and he knows for sure it is The Joker’s blood.


End file.
